


Some Nights

by Bloodwolf



Series: The hands that bind [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know shit, M/M, Self-Harm, Soulmates, past drug abuse, troupes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:37:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodwolf/pseuds/Bloodwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t deserve it. The cinnamon colored name on your horrendously scarred hand. It means love, protection, acceptance; things you do not believe you should even catch a glimpse of in your twenty-six years of life, or whatever you have as a substitute. The Name is too beautiful, even when the sweet kiss of a steel razor ran through it. You don’t deserve it.</p>
<p>Just like you don’t deserve the marked hand (<i>your</i> name), holding yours tightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit a sequel. That's new.  
> Maybe I'll make more of these, I don't know.

You don’t deserve it. The cinnamon colored name on your horrendously scarred hand. It means love, protection, acceptance; things you do not believe you should even catch a glimpse of in your twenty-six years of life, or whatever you have as a substitute. The Name is too beautiful, even when the sweet kiss of a steel razor ran through it. You don’t deserve it.

Just like you don’t deserve the marked hand ( _your_ name), holding yours tightly.

:o(

“There’s not a whole motherfucking lot I can really all up and tell ya. Not without wanting to embellish a few things, to vindicate myself. I replay this story over and over in my motherfucking thinkpan, and I wonder if the shit I tell myself is true. God, it’s all fucked up. I fucked up. But you want the motherfucking details, and that’s what I’ll tell ya. Because if anything, you deserve that much.”

:o)

That beautiful mocha hand guides you to a modest apartment complex, not too far from where he found you. The trip was silent, save a few creeks from the boys (man? He looks older, but his cherub face keeps telling you different) legs, strained from the trip. (When he crouched down to you, holding you, you saw a flash of metal run up his pant leg and your heart clenched and hand burned.)

He opened the door on the fifth floor and you’re met with warmth seeping into your cold bones. The flat wasn’t too big, but it was comfortable. Living room, kitchen, bedrooms and bath in the hallway, the typical bachelor pad. The boy (Tavros, you keep reminding yourself) pulled you in with a smile, asking you of you want anything. You shook your head. He said that you can take the bed, his bed. You opted for the couch instead.

:o(

“I wasn’t a good kid. I wasn’t gangbanger bad, but I still wasn’t the kind of motherfucker your parental units would let you all up and hang with. Skipped school, smoked pot, bad grades, ICP merch, the whole nine motherfucking yards. I had a few friends, but they barely tolerated me. There was one that stuck around the longest, Karkat, my best friend. Cranky little fucker, but he kept me from going too far off the deep end. And I was happy, despite it all.”

:o)

The rest of the day passed in a quiet, calm blur. After you fell ungraciously on the couch, he moved over to the chair adjacent, and without a word flipped on the television. He wanted to ask you about the scars, and the alleyway (he keeps glancing over at you, calculating your thin frame and scarred hand with warm chocolate eyes), but he left it alone, settling on Animal Planet with a content smile.

It looked nice on him.

Later he asked what you wanted for dinner, quick and nonchalant, like you’ve always been there, on his couch, in his life. You shrug and say whatever.

He ended up making spaghetti, and it was the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

:o(

“When I got your Name, it was the happiest I had ever motherfucking been. I remember kissing it until my lips turned all raw and swollen and shit. I thought I was gonna end up a blank. Hell, people all up and made bets on it. And even when I showed them, they still didn’t motherfucking believe it. Some thought I just tattooed it on. But I didn’t care. The moment I saw the marks, I tried to better myself. Do better in school, quit the pot, even gave up the ICP shit. I wanted to be better when I met you. But fuck, if it didn’t turn to shit real fast.”

:o)

The next day you woke up warm, dry, and content, for once in your life. It took you a moment to realize that you’re not surrounded in the smell of garbage and piss and you bolt upward from your spot, wide eyes darting your surroundings. When you spot Tavros hunched over the stove in the kitchen, realization flashed through you like strobe lights and a shiver rolls down your spine.

That’s yours. And judging by the Name on his hand, you’re his too.

He turned around and beamed a sleepy smile at you, greeting you, as he hands you a simple dish of eggs and toast. By all fucks, your hand is warm as you timidly eat.

After breakfast, he said he wants to take you to his job. He thinks you’re going to run off the minute he turns around. You nod without thinking. You think his smile might kill you someday.

:o(

“Karkat met this chick. Terezi. Blind as a bat, but motherfucker wasn’t too bad. At least at first. Thing is though, she’s a blank. And Karbro’s accounted for, with a shiny yellow name to boot. That shit don’t end well, no matter who you are. I kept telling him to wait. That his mate would come for him if he just mellows the fuck out. But he wouldn’t listen. He believed the name on his was motherfucking wrong. Hated it to the point of cutting. He would run off with her at every motherfucking chance. One day, I caught her sneaking off with some other guys, and I motherfucking talked to her about it. She kept up this fucking attitude and she started to fucking hit on me. I don’t do that shit, not to Karbro, even if she’s a fucking snake. When I wouldn’t budge, she kissed me, rough.”

:o)

Tavros spent the trip to his workplace telling you about his work. He mentions to you that he likes animals, and that working as a vet is one of the most rewarding things he’s ever done in his life (finding you was also up there, he whispers with a blush). Halfway to his clinic you ask him about any weird incidents with PETA or vegans or some shit. He laughs and while he didn’t have much experience with vegans, he said, there was this one time with a crazy protester who ran into his clinic drenched in red paint and started to crawl all over the floors. His secretary pulled out the clinics mascot boa constrictor, and she ran. Tavros finishes the story with a warming chuckle, and you realized that he slipped his hand into yours.

You find that you don’t mind it one bit.

When you both reached the clinic, the door was already open and he holds the door for you, mock bowing as you pass.

Then you see her.

Kanaya, of all fucking people, typing away at the front desk, a snake coiled not too far from where she’s sitting. She raised her head, greeting her boss before her jade eyes met yours. Memories of high school pass by you in a blur and before she or Tavros could say anything, you bolted out the door into the busy streets.

You hear your name, from her or Tavros, you don’t know, but you didn’t stop.

:o(

“I pushed her away. But it was fucking too late. Karkat’s cousin, Kanaya, saw it as she was passing. I saw her and she saw me. I tried telling her it wasn’t what it looked like, but lo and motherfucking behold, she didn’t believe me. She snarled something at me and ran off. By the end of the day, whatever bit of respect I earned got shot down faster than a motherfucking hooker. When I saw Kar later, he didn’t say anything, which was bad enough as it is. He just looked at me with so much disappointment; I could’ve sworn I died a little.”

:o)

He found you later curled up at the bus stop near noon. He crouched down to your size, much like yesterday, and hoisted you to stand. He didn’t ask, but you think he knows anyway. He has too.

When one of the afternoon buses stop, he wordlessly led you inside, one arm at your waist, another at your branded hand. He holds you close, brushing a thumb across your (his) scarred name as he takes you back to his place, only letting go when he unlocked his door. The boy guided you to the couch and brushed stray strands of black curls from your head as you fell on it.

He apologized. He didn’t need to, but he did anyway. You brushed it off with a shrug. Tavros decides to sit on the armrest, carding his fingers through your greasy hair. He has to go back to the clinic, he said, a few minutes later. You don’t make a move to stop him.

:o(

“Everything just kept getting worse and motherfucking worse. I was ether alienated, or getting my ass kicked. I tried to motherfucking fix things, but I was apparently ‘too far gone’, according to all the shit rumors. That fucking Blank bitch went so far as to motherfucking spread the worse shit about me as much as possible. That I was a fake, a junkie, a loveless sham. ‘Slut’ even got passed around a few times. One day, I just fucking had it and just all upped and stopped going.”

:o)

He came back a few hours later, setting his keys and wallet at the end table and approached your unmoving, lethargic figure. The TVs playing some form of detective show but you’ve been too busy brooding (moping, Tavros later quips) to care. He still doesn’t say anything , just pushed your lanky frame over a smudge and places your head on his lap, running his Named hand through your hair like before. You hummed, today’s problems nearly forgotten with every strand he brushes.

The cabbie did it, Tavros smirks and you raise a disbelieving brow at him. He mirrors the gesture in a challenge.

Half an hour later he’s proven right, and he allows himself a smug grin of victory.

:o(

“So I became a lazy fucker. Pot, food, sleep, hygiene (when I’m not too blitzed out of my mind), all that shit. Then pot wasn’t enough. My brother was a dealer, so he had a bunch of the big junk. So I took some of the big three; heroine, coke, and acid. First one I tried was the coke. I still have scar from the first time I tried shooting, and I messed up. Best high I had ever been in.”

:o)

That night the withdrawals started. For hours you laid on that leather couch clutching the shoddy armrest with almost inhuman strength. Your mind was torn to pieces, to drugs and to control. It was agonizing. You were sweating bullets and your hand was burning.

You opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

You heard the pitter-patter of delicate steps draw close, but you couldn’t be bothered to look up. No the strain and effort would be too much. Your hand clawed into the leather and you felt small hands cradling your head affectionately. Peering under sweaty curls, you saw Tav, beautiful, sweet Tav, and his eyes almost glow assessing your situation.

You growled.

He didn’t move. In fact, he just brushed the damp hair out of your face.

He’s not a people doctor, but it doesn’t take one to know what you’re going through. Instead of leaving you to your misery, he eased you off the sweaty couch and led you to the bedroom, while your dirty fingers dug through his clean arm.

He pried your fingers from his bleeding arm to fetch you water and waits.

:o(

“One night, I got a little too motherfucking curious. I thought hey, if the drugs all up and brought me the best high individually, why not combine them for the best high ever? Heh, well. My brother found me seizurin’ and convulsin’ an’ shakin’ on the ground like a fish outta motherfuckin’ water. Took me to the ER. I died there, Tavvy. For three minutes, I was a cold motherfucking corpse on a slab. And I never saw the fucking light.”

:o)

The days following became some of the worst you’ve ever experience. You’ve only had to endure withdraws once before, and you just go out to get another hit to stop the pain. But that’s no longer an option. Despite your body screaming for a cold needle straight in your veins, you didn’t move. You stayed in that sweat-soaked bed, groaning for sweet relief, while Tav stays by you, enduring the onslaught of curses, growls, and pathetic pleading for liquid nirvana.

Tav wasn’t affected. Sometimes you catch the glimpses of hurt in his eyes when your mouth flew off the handle, and your heart clenched in guilt, and maybe that’s why you stayed. Because he would coo soothing words at you, attentively brushing the thumb of his marked hand on yours, a quiet light in the thick shadow. Because if you stayed and got better for him, for the man marked on your hand, you might even become a fraction of the Soulmate he deserved.

You don’t know how long you stayed like this, but you believed it’ll be worth it.

:o(

“I woke up surrounded by white. White, white, white, motherfucking white. I fucking hated it. I was in that bed for fucking days, surrounded by apathetic nurses and judging doctors. No one visited me, except for my mute motherfucking brother who just stared at me for ten motherfucking minutes before taking off God-knows-where. In a week, he took me home. Then, a week after that, he got the bill. I actually felt guilty for the motherfucking asshole. So I ran away. Last I heard, he got arrested at a drug bust somewhere in Louisiana. No love lost.”

:o)

It took nearly a month. A month of harsh screaming, biting, kicking and whatever else you did. But it’s gone. The twitching, the burning, and the constant need for a euphoric high, it’s no longer there. You still ached, but it’s bearable, and it feels like paradise compared to what you went through. 

Tav said that you’re lucky; that not a lot of people would make it this far. Those words made you smile brightly. You haven’t smiled like that in years.

At dinner, Tavros beamed his praises at you as he placed your plate of spaghetti (your favorite, you often boast) in front of you. He sat next to you, briefly brushing his hand over yours affectionately, before digging in his own plate. After that, you two chat adamantly. About what, you don’t care to remember, but you love these quiet, controlled moments, so you won’t complain.

As dinner draws to a close, you patted your belly, already feeling it bulge a bit. You sat there content as a happy cat and Tav takes your plate to the wash, despite your protests to help. As you get up for the couch, you felt your Soulmate brushing the curls from the nape of your neck and pulled you down.

He kissed you. It tasted like tomato and basil and it was so perfect, you nearly cried.

:o(

“And there we have it. I’ve been on the motherfucking streets ever since. Sleep here, shoot coke there, fuck for more over there. I tried to get better, but I didn’t have much drive to do it. Some nights, I’d look at my hand, at your name, and I’d scream. Scream, cut, and curse until I passed out on a fucking high. I’d wake up with a headache and a lot of blood on my arm. I’m surprised I’m not dead. But then I found you, on that rainy day in a motherfucking ally of all places.”

:o)

Tavros’ tale made your heart clench.

You wanted to stand from the comfy bed, march on to whoever this ‘Vriska’ bitch is and ruin her, but you save face for your Soulmates sake, and let him hold your marked hand tightly. The contact makes your skin buzz with an arousing high, better than any drug you’ve ever indulged in.

Tell me yours, Tavbro murmurs, brushing his lips against yours.

It’s not nice, you reply, there is no motherfucking happy ending.

Yes there is, he insists, it’s right here.

Pressing your lips to his for a firmer kiss, you breathe and open your mouth to speak.


End file.
